


Tawny

by MisterOctober



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Arguing, Banter, Dragon Age II Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Fluff, Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Hawke (Dragon Age) Lives, Hawke and Varric have one braincell, Hawke is an anxious boi, Hawke's dog is called Dog, I love my dumb babies, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Fanart, Love Confessions, M/M, Nicknames, Sleepy Cuddles, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and Aveline confiscated it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25609660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterOctober/pseuds/MisterOctober
Summary: After Hawke escapes from the Fade, it's time for him to get home. All that's left is for him to figure out what (or more accurately who) he's coming home to. Hint: they're short, hairy, and sarcastic.
Relationships: Male Hawke & Varric Tethras, Male Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	Tawny

**Author's Note:**

> I love Hawke and Varric together, and I hated leaving Hawke behind in the fade, so mostly this was to make myself feel better. It was hard to keep them in character, so let me know how you think I did in the comments if you can :)
> 
> I was inspired by this incredible piece on Deviant Art: https://www.deviantart.com/aimo/art/DA2-Bedtime-191199650

"So…the Inquisitor tells me you got in trouble with Seeker Pentaghast again.”

It's not a strong greeting, as far as past experience goes, and the levity the Hawke tries for falls flat, but Varric looks up sharply at the sound of the familiar voice, and his eyes widen. A curious emotion flashes across Varric’s face before the dwarf drops his head.

Hawke can still see the way he relaxes, even as a small frown marrs his face. 

The sight makes Hawke's heart skip a beat. Andraste's tits, he's got it bad.

The fire crackling in the hearth, casts a warm orange glow over the room and it reminds Hawke of nights spent in the Hangman, a tankard of ale in his hands as he watches Varric throw his head back, and roar with laughter as he trounces Isabela at Wicked Grace again.

"Nice place you've got here, Hawke comments, idly looking over the sparsely decorated room. The four-poster in the middle takes Hawke back to his bedroom in the Amell mansion, where he can recall sitting by the fire with Varric, and chuckling over some minor misfortune to have befallen Carver (likely orchestrated by the two of them).

Varric uses Hawke's moment of introspection to look him up and down, and Hawke is only just present enough, that the feeling of being under his friends scrutiny makes him shiver slightly. His skin feels hot and cold at the same time. He disguises it with an easy grin.

“I thought you were headed for Weisshaupt,” Varric murmurs quietly.

Hawke sighs.

“I was.”

Varric processes the information, and his gaze becomes guarded, the effect is worsened when he dons his trademark jovial grin. After so many years, Hawke knows it to be false and the wrongness of it makes Hawke’s skin itch.

“Seeker’s always up my ass, so don’t worry your pretty little head about that. It’s the only way she knows how to express her love for me,” Varric tries for levity but it falls flat.

“And here I thought you were defending my honour,” Hawke says, his tone falling just short of teasing.

“What honour?”, Varric raises his eyebrow.

“I’ll admit, I walked right into that one," smiles a little, hoping it will encourage Varric into a good mood.

"Yes. You did," Varric's tone is clipped, and Hawke's chest tightens. 

He's heard that tone of voice before, but it's never been directed at him. He feels a jolt of fear at the base of his throat.

Hawke rights himself from where he’d been leaning against the door frame, and saunters closer, forcing himself to seem at ease. A fight with Varric is the last thing he wants. Despite how tense he feels, his face softens at the view in front of him.

Varric is relaxed in his bed. His back is braced against the headboard, and he’s holding his knees close to his chest. A book rests open on top of them, all but forgotten in the presence of his unexpected visitor.

He looks soft in a way he rarely is these days- still weary though. His tunic is largely unbuttoned and gives Hawke a tantalising view of the course hairs that litter his breast-bone, and taught muscles that stretch between his broad shoulder and his pectorals. The thinly wired spectacles he wears for reading are perched onto his broad nose.

Most surprising, is the fact that his hair is loose; the silky-looking tawny strands hang down to his shoulders, and a few cheekily slip past his ears.

It’s so _concentratedly Varric_ that it inspires a surge of warm affection. His heart aches with a want that’s not as strictly platonic as he'd like. 

With all that's gone down in the years, since they met, Hawke knows that the moments like these- the moments _in between_ are exceptionally rare. He wishes he could cling to this moment. He knows he'll need to get through whatever shitstorm the world decides to chuck at him next.

Bypassing the bed with some effort, Hawke strides over to the window to watch the darkness that creeping up on Skyhold. Cullen’s recruits scurry to light torches, and the sight makes him feel oddly at home, in a way that he hasn’t been since Kirkwall, or maybe, he turns considering, that can be attributed to Varric.

“I realised when I was a little ways out of the Frostbacks that there were better places to be,” Hawke smirks, “Besides, I think Carver’s getting sick of me.”

“More fool him,” Varric mutters.

Hawkes heart leaps up to his throat, and he quashes it down mercilessly.

“Varric…”

The dwarf looks up, and whatever words Hawke was going to say wilt on the tip of his tongue.

It takes Hawke a couple of seconds- mostly because it’s so rare to see it so blatantly on his best friend’s face, but he realises Varric is angry. In fact, he's furious. Underneath the quips and easy countenance, there is a coiled heat. The fear in Hawke's chest triples.

As if he knows, Varric slumps down in exasperation. Rolling his eyes, he pats the empty space on the bed next to him.

Hawke’s body acts without his input, and he only has time to reflect again briefly on how embarrassingly smitten he is, before he’s pulling off his boots, dropping his armour onto the cold stone floor, and diving onto the soft mattress in front of him.

It’s not odd for the two of them to take physical comfort in one another. Hawke has always been tactile, and Varric is unwaveringly tolerant of his idiocy. The dwarf is always there to give him what he needs. This is a first though. They've never crossed this line before. Not after not having seen one another for a year, and never when Varric is so closed off.

They try to keep things light in the short glimpses they've caught of one another. They tell jokes and use the easy banter that inevitably arises to distract themselves, and each other. It's just they're dynamic: The Merchant Prince and The Champion of Kirkwall. They never run out of witticisms. So this solemnity that’s manifested is totally uncharted territory.

Hawke squirms for a second, unsure of how to proceed now that they're in such close quarters. He can feel the warmth radiating from his friend, and revels in it as he waits for the other shoe to drop. He’d been dreading an impending confrontation between the two of them when he’d been spat out by the Fade (the demon guts will probably never wash out of that tunic, which is a shame because he was quite fond of it).

Still, Hawke had to be debriefed, so Varric and he had barely had the chance to do more than make eye contact with each other from across the room. Hawke had interpreted the shared look to mean ‘ _hey, I’m glad you’re alive_ ’, and ‘ _what an amazing coincidence, so am I_ ’, before he was being spirited away by Cassandra and the Inquisitor for debriefing, and then to a strange egg-headed elf, who introduced himself as Solas, for healing.

By the time he had even a moment to himself, he could tell he was a moment away from breaking down. He didn't particularly want the Tevinter with the mustache to stumble onto him while he was hyperventilating in a dusty corner of the castle, so he had turned tail and fled, with the need to be anywhere but there flashing in the forefront of his mind. So he had mumbled an excuse to the Inquisitor about taking a message to Weisshaupt, borrowed a horse from Dennet, and galloped off into the sunset away like he was being chased by a horde of pride demons.

The ride had been refreshing and he felt a lot less on edge the further away he got, but he couldn't help but take notice of the nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him he was travelling in the wrong direction, and the suffocating guilt he felt when he remembered the heartbroken look that had lingered on Varric’s face for just a split second before he’d tumbled through the Rift, seconds before the Inquisitor closed it.

Now, he can feel dread a pooling in his gut, and he flinches away from words that Varric hasn’t even spoken yet. Instead of the scathing diatribe he had expected, Varric simply sighs, taking off his glasses and placing them and his book carefully on the nightstand next to him. Then he sinks down into the covers and resumed his inspection of his friend.

Hawke can't help but notice that they're at eye-level with one another. He's sure they look like a pair of idiots lying in bed just looking at each other, and he's surprised at himself for being so self conscious. 

Now that they're face to face, Hawke is horrified to see that Varric's eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. There are shiny tracks on the weathered skin of his cheeks that disappear into five o'clock shadow.

Guilt floods Hawke, and he reaches out without any thought.

“I’m sorry-“

“Hawke, I-“

They both start, and Hawke sucks in a breath and averts his gaze, resigned to whatever comes next.

In his peripherals he can see Varric lowering his gaze to the sheets, and examining the intricate pattern embroidered on the Orlesian silk, his trigger finger plucking at loose threads.

Hawke scratches at his beard and runs his fingers through the short spikes of his hair.

He tries to find something to say. Anything he could say to make this better.

Instead what he blurts is, “Your chest hair looks angry.”

Varric stills and blinks at him looking somewhat flabbergasted.

Hawke feels his ears burning and buries his face into dwarf's pillow. He reminds himself that this is Varric. Varric has been his most trusted friend for years! Varric went through the fiasco in the Deep Roads. He's stood guard, as Hawke drunkenly empties his guts onto the cobblestones of Lowtown. He has nothing to hide from a man he's considered family for half a decade.

Then again, maybe that’s why he feels like everything is at stake.

Shaking off whatever comment he's clearly dying to make, Varric looks at him so earnestly it hurts.

“It’s been a long year, Hawke. Hell, it’s been a long _five_ years, and we’ve been through a lot together- more than a lot! Let’s admit I would- no I have followed you anywhere-"

His voice is raspy, and there's a burning sensation in the pit of Hawke's stomach when he realises it's from the crying. The burning turns into a kind of bitter anger, that Hawke tries to hold back through gritted teeth. It doesn't work.

“You didn't!”, Hawke shouts explosively, and he is angry now.

He knew it was coming, he’d been ready for it even, but it still hurt. The unease he feels about fighting with Varric -not at his side but against him, has manifested in a muted fury, that he needs to unleash or he’s sure he'll combust.

It makes him feel like a little boy again, scowling and sullen at being told off by his mother, and this only serves to make him more vicious. The Hawke temper made itself most known in Carver, but that doesn't at all mean Hawke is harmless.

“You _didn’t_ follow me anywhere! I asked you to and you said no! After everything came crumbling down at the end of the day, I had hoped that maybe-! But you-!" Hawke's frustrated stuttering adds fuel to the fire. Varric's typical eloquence means that they're on uneven ground.

"You _left_! You fucked right off to Antiva with Isabela and that was that!”

Varric looks surprised and curiously stricken, before his resolve hardens on his face once again. He sits back up to shout.

“If you’d wanted me back all you had to do was write me a letter! I barely hear _anything_ from you for four years except to let me know that you’re alive and where you are. Then I find out that the Divine is sending her guard dogs after you, and she wants you for the Inquisition. I was trying to _protect_ you Hawke- You-you’ve been through enough! I wrote to you! I told you, you should have stayed away! But you come marching back all heroic and-"

Hawke can see that Varric is on a roll, and he won’t stop any time soon, but he can’t quite bite his tongue when indignation hits him.

“I came because I was worried about _you_ , you idiot! _I_ heard about the battle at Haven, even from the blight-forsaken, backwater shithole I was in! I knew I couldn’t trust rumours, and I had no idea whether you were alive or not! You put yourself in danger –", he can seen Varric's retort before he even says it, and continues nonetheless, " -that’s fine, we’re always in danger, but Maker damn it Varric, you got in danger _without_ me! That’s why I came back!” Hawke defends, and he knows that Varric can hear the echoes of the panic he felt in his voice, because it breaks suddenly, and Hawke doesn't know how much of this he can take.

They're on equal footing again; Varric looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown and Hawke has only seen him so visibly wrecked after they'd come back from Bartrand's mansion.

The next thing he knows Varric is gripping him by the shoulders, just shy of hard enough to bruise him.

“Yeah, you came back, and then you nearly died! You nearly _died_ and you did that without me too, Hawke! When-when the Herald said you had stayed behind- I was-fuck! Then you get back at the last minute like always -but _this time_. This time I thought it was for real, you nug-sucker! I go to look for you and the Herald tells me some bullshit about sacrifice, and I just- damn it Hawke. I can’t do this anymore.”

Varric hangs his head, and looking at him Hawke feels his anger dissolve away into nothing. Instead all that’s left is a hollow feeling when he realises this will always be their lives. Hawke will always be the Champion of Kirkwall, the hero of Varric’s anecdotes, exaggerated as they are. He will always be the man who puts himself in front of the sharp end of a sword because that's all he knows, and Varric will always be the unobtainable. The dream Hawke's had since he saw Varric for the first time: all wide grins, and the spark of humour in his grey eyes (Hawke still doesn't know anyone who can make holding a crossbow look so sexy),but damn it he wants that to change.

He hasn’t felt rested since Kirkwall. He feels like he’s hanging onto life by a thread waiting for some reason to pull himself back to where he wants to be. He goes through the motions, but there’s nothing behind them except a deep and primal fear of the world around him that just _never goes away_ , and the feeling that wherever he goes he’ll never be home.

“Varric, I’m so sorry,” Hawke can hear his own voice breaking but it sounds far away, like it belongs to a stranger, “Varric I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He breaks off to catch his ragged breaths.

“Andraste’s _tits_! Everything I’ve done, it doesn’t- I can't. I failed Bethany and Mother. I failed Kirkwall. I failed with- with bloody Corypheus. He was my responsibility. I was meant to have killed him- he was meant to be dead! And now-! This mess, I just want to fix it. I don’t know how to fix it, so I tried in the Fade. I really did, but I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I never used to feel this- this scared.”

Hawke grips the sheets tight in his fists, his knuckles turn white and he crumples the roses embroidered on the duvet, “I have to tell you, if the Maker exists I must be the biggest joke in the world to him, and let’s agree his sense of humour is _shit_.”

Hawke laughs humourlessly before scrubbing roughly at the wetness welling up in his eyes. He rolls onto his back, bringing his palms up to his face, digging their heels into his retinas until all he can see are patches of colour on the backs of his eyelids.

He can hear the rustling of sheets next to him, and tenses, waiting for Varric's inevitable disappointment and the invitation to leave he's sure will follow. Instead he feels calloused fingers closing around his wrists, gently prying them away from his face, and he blinks his eyes open to see Varric smiling down at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. At the same time it makes his heart do summersaults, he couldn’t feel more unworthy.

“Hawke, I knew the moment I met you, that you were all noble and shit-“

Hawke snorts.

“You’re a _damn_ good man Hawke,” Varric pauses, “The best human- no the best person I’ve ever met, in fact. If the Maker exists and he only ever did one thing right, then I think that thing is you.

“You know that asshole I’m always writing about- the Champion of Kirkwall? He’s just an ideal: something for the masses. He’s got nothing on you, because there's no real risk for him. He’s the hero of the story – the legacy will go on and so will he. But you- you _will_ die one day, I mean seriously, have you ever heard of self-preservation? That’s the thing though. There’s gonna be a day when you may not come back, and I never want that to come. I can’t even think about it.

“I’m a storyteller, and you’re my- now don’t go getting big headed- you’re my muse. The only thing that really matters to me. When you’re not there, I got nothing, and when I got nothing, then I’m pretty obsolete. So, I guess my point is- I think we’re better off sticking together.”

Hawke stares, then sighs and decides fuck it. If this ends badly, he’ll ask The Iron Bull to spar with him, and he’s sure he’ll be put out of his misery. Heck, there’s a giant hole in the sky, and a lyrium-addicted maniac out to end the world, he’s sure someone will volunteer if Plan A doesn’t work.

“Careful, Dwarf. That almost sounded like a love confession.”

Varric sees the comment for what it is immediately - of course he does! He's Hawke's best friend, although somewhere along the line Hawke seems to have forgotten it.

Varric lays back down, and looks Hawke dead in the eye with uncharacteristic seriousness. He swallows, and Hawke is distracted by the way that his Adam’s apple bobs. He can see a myriad of expressions playing out on Varric’s face as he formulates his response, and then finally the moment where he too seems to decide to throw caution to the wind.

Hawke readies himself for Varric to inevitably play it off- the way he always does when Hawke gets a bit too drunk and handsy. He waits for Varric to shut him down like he always does with a “ _you’re a bit too tall for me_ ”, or a “ _you wish_ ”.

“That’s because it was.”

Hawke can't muster the strength to do anything more than stare dumbfounded.

“ _What._ ”

Varric turns to him and grins shakily.

“Unless of course, you’re not man enough to deal with me.”

Hawke blinks.

“Well would you look at that. Garrett Hawke is speechless.”

Varric gives a throaty chuckle, and Hawke realises that he’s keeping Varric waiting too long. He can see the dwarf shifting uneasily ready to backtrack and find a way to play off the statement, so he does the only thing he can think to do.

He pounces, knocking the Tethras heir onto his back, bracing his forearms against Varric’s chest, and smashing their mouths together in a searing kiss.

Varric gives a brief grunt of surprise before relaxing, and beginning to kiss back. They spend a while like that embracing languidly, and absorbing the sight of one another in wonder, as they register what it is they’ve just done.

Eventually they break apart, and Varric eyes him appraisingly. The spark that has been missing for so long is back in his eyes, and Hawke wants to jump him all over again.

“Not that this isn’t great and all, but I think I need some clarification, Hawke.”

“You need an answer after that?”, Hawke deadpans.

“Oh yeah. You’re beginning to make me pretty insecure. I think I need some reassurance.”

“Of course you do – how remiss of me, but first tell me Varric – how long have you fancied me?” Hawke smirks smarmily.

Varric just looks at him unimpressed, before shrugging in what he seems to think is a nonchalant manner.

“You’re my best friend Hawke. I spent five years saving Thedas' collective asses by your side, and I may not normally be into humans, but I’m not blind,” he answers drily.

“Well that’s good to know. I’ve been flirting with you for so long, I was beginning to think that you were,” Hawke retorts sharply.

“You’re like that with everybody though,” Varric points out.

“I _am_ not!”

Varric has the nerve to squint at him.

“Okay. I am, but it only ever meant something when it was you.”

“I only realised after we split up. We were pretty codependent when we were in Kirkwall, Rivaini kept saying she had to, quote-unquote, "re-acquaint" herself with me because she wasn’t used to talking to me when you weren't there. I hadn’t really thought about it, but then it hit me, and the only thing the went through my head was ‘ _Oh_.’”

"Carver said the same thing,but in much cruder words," Hawke grins salaciously then, “Speaking of re-acquainting…”

Varric eyes him.

“You’re sure you want to?”

Hawke stares right back.

“We’ve been best friends for five years, and I’ve spent four of those brooding over you like Fenris does over fine wine. _Of course_ I want to, Varric!”

And then Varric's beaming at him like Hawke has just given the universe -and there's another moment to hold onto for later, Hawke thinks abstractedly- they’re falling into each other, and all of Hawkes troubles have mysteriously melted away. He’s not naïve enough to think it’s a permanent solution – but a repeated dosage of this remedy really couldn’t go amiss.

* * *

When they’ve settled down for the night, feeling sated, and for the first time in a long time, _relaxed_ , they curl into each other, between the soft sheets in Varric’s bed, pressing together as close as they can.

It feels as if they’re magnetized.

Hawke’s head rests next to his lover’s(!) on the latter’s pillow, as the dwarf dozes with his eyes mostly closed.

Hawke brushes a tender kiss against his temple, and then says “Carver’s going to go ballistic when he hears about this.”

He feels Varric laugh against him, sending vibrations through him from where his chest meets Varric’s back.

“Junior will be ecstatic,” Varric agrees drolly.

“What are the chances that Isabela will sail all the way over here, just to make dirty jokes in person?”

“Pretty high,” Varric grumbles.

In the interest of his health Hawke adds, “On second thoughts we should maybe not tell her until after Cassandra is _very_ far away. I can’t really see the two of them getting along. Her and Aveline is a different story entirely though.”

There is silence for a few moments, and then, “Varric?”

“Hawke?”

“We should celebrate the end of our idiocy.”

“I’m sure this isn’t the last time we’ll be idiots,” Varric sighs, then inquires, “You want to head to the tavern and drink ourselves silly?”

“Tavern it is,” Hawke confirms.

“Sounds perfect.”

“It does.”

Hawke’s fingers card through the long tawny strands of Varric’s hair, before he stills. Reaching around Varric to prod him in the gut.

“Will you get another crossbow and name it after me?”, Hawke asks slyly.

Varric turns, studying Hawke over his shoulder.

“You think I need another crossbow?”

Hawke buries his answering grin into Varric’s shoulder blade.

“I think you deserve all the crossbows.”

Varric eyes narrow, “That’s not what I asked you.”

Hawke just shrugs enigmatically and smirks.

"I wrote an entire book about you. Isn't that enough?", Varric groans and rolls over so that the two of them are face to face, and then smiles slowly – the sight sends Hawke’s heart thumping wildly.

“What do you think of attending a Merchant’s Guild meeting in my place? If we get hitched, you'll technically be a part of the Tethras family, and you've got the beard part down. Man, those stuffy old bastards are gonna have _coronaries_ when they see you.”

Hawke cackles along with him, even as his heart leaps when Varric says 'hitched'.

“Dog is still not allowed on the bed, though.”

Hawke stops laughing, and pouts.

“Stop it.”

He makes his eyes as large and sad as he can.

“Fine. Two nights a week _maximum_.”

Hawke immediately brightens.

“But in exchange, I’ll make you read my new book. It’s gonna be a crossover called _The Champion: Swords in Skyhold._ The seeker will love it.”

“Maker, please don’t. I’ve known her for a few hours and she already scares the piss out of me.”

There’s another silence. It’s companionable and tender, and Hawke’s beginning to realise just how much he missed this. He’s talkative at the best of times, and he knows his quips drive people crazy, but he’s in good company as far as Varric is concerned.

Strangely, although they both love the sounds of their own voices, the stolen moments between them when there’s no pressure to speak are some of Hawke’s favourites.

Varric is the one to break the quiet, “Do you miss it?”

Hawke starts out contemplatively, “Kirkwall? Yes, and no. I miss how it used to be, when we were all together. You know. Before that hell with the revolt, and Anders going batshit.”

“Hear, hear.”

Hawke turns to Varric then, “Do you ever think about going back?”

“All the fucking time.”

“So let’s go back. Not now obviously. But after everything. Together.”

“Okay. Together then,” says Varric simply. 

He's slurring slightly in a way that Hawke knows means he's close to dropping off.

Hawke can feel his breaths evening out, and knows they are both close to sleep. 

The lifeline that Hawke is clinging to may give way, but Varric is there. He’ll always be there to grasp Hawke’s hand and pull him back from over the edge, and it makes Hawke love him so much that he aches.

They stay like that afterwards, with Hawkes fingers curled around strands of Varric’s tawny hair, as he knows it will be for every night afterwards.


End file.
